


Delyrium

by Ser_Thirst_A_Lot



Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is a chaotic disaster, Banter, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spirit lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/pseuds/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot
Summary: Fuck, Anders thought.Fuck, fuck, fuck,his brain went on eloquently."Fuck!" he cried out loud, in the vain hope that it would somehow fix his predicament.The predicament being a severely concussed, black-eyed, wheezing Knight-Captain wallowing at Anders' feet, blood oozing from his mouth and nose as he struggled to grasp at his sword.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158695
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Delyrium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts).



> I am pre-emptively sorry for the pun and my special stoopid brand of humor. Regardless, hope you enjoy!
> 
> 🎶 The world of Dragon Age is intrinsically connected to music. The Song of lyrium and the broken Song of its red counterpart, the Song of the Old Gods and the maddening music of the Calling, the Chant of Light, and the times of long past when 'everything sang the same.' To honor that, each of my DA fics will be accompanied by a soundtrack. For this one, it's **High Cs** by **Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

_Fuck_ , Anders thought.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ his brain went on eloquently.

"Fuck!" he cried out loud, in the vain hope that it would somehow fix his predicament.

The predicament being a severely concussed, black-eyed, wheezing Knight-Captain wallowing at Anders' feet, blood oozing from his mouth and nose as he struggled to grasp at his sword.

Anders gently nudged the weapon away even though it wouldn't truly do Cullen any good in his condition. But really, what the Void else was Anders supposed to do? Heal him? Kill him? Run and never come back?

The third option would have been his go-to in the past, but totally out of the question now that he had his life with Hawke. A secure, blissful, and precious life, however long it would last and wherever it would lead.

For once, Anders couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ allow himself to leave a home behind, no matter the danger. Which brought him to his previous point.

_Fuck._

As things stood, Anders opted to run as far as the estate and hope that either Cullen's wounds ended up killing him or the concussion would mess with his memory. To aid in the latter, Anders kicked Cullen in the head (as lightly as possible, despite Justice's protest manifesting in a momentary sheen of light above his skin) to make him pass out completely, and then ran, every hard thud of his feet upon pavement echoed by the yet unending and still unhelpful chant of _fuck_ hammering through his thoughts.

After all, there was only so much an apostate could get away with in this city before even the dumbest of lucks ran out.

* * *

"Love?"

Anders found Hawke sprawled in the living room armchair with a book strewn on his chest, caught deep in a sleep Anders was loath to interrupt.

This could probably wait, he figured. Cullen surely wouldn't be running—or walking—anywhere anytime soon, much less all the way from the Chantry courtyard here to Hawke's mansion. He made for the bedroom as quietly as he could, trying to ignore the heart battering against his chest with the remnants of fury-fueled adrenaline, trying to block out the intrusive thought of the sunburst branded over Hawke's forehead if his wealth, position, and title of Champion weren't enough to fix yet _another_ one of Anders messes—

"Anders."

_Fuck._

"Evening, love." Anders turned to face Hawke just in time to get crushed by a tight embrace. Warm and comforting. Safe. "Night, I mean. I told you not to wait up."

"I worry." Hawke gave him a kiss, and another, longer, sweeter one for good measure. "What's wrong?"

Anders' heart skipped a beat. "Something's wrong?"

"I know that look. What is it?"

"Nothing," Anders said too quickly. "I mean, _some_ thing, yes, but—I..." He trailed off, voice too strained to continue. _Fuck,_ his brain supplied once more, and once again it did nothing to make things better. “I accidentally punched a Templar," he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. Better get it out as fast as he can. "A few times. At _least_ ten.”

A tense silence followed, and Anders focused on the grainy patterns forming behind his eyelids, swirling into splatters of red, too red, too much like blood. He opened his eyes to see Hawke looking at him with nothing but mild amusement.

"Right," Hawke said slowly, "you punched a templar. Great. Can't imagine why you'd think I'd be upset about that and I have to ask—why didn't you _kill_ the templar? If they were alone?"

Anders bit his lip. "Because it's the Knight-Captain."

" _Cullen_?"

"The one and only."

"You beat _Cullen_ bloody?"

"Stop laughing, Hawke!" Anders hissed. "Maker _damn_ it. It won't be fucking funny when he comes over tomorrow with arrest warrants for both of us and it's either bloody murder or us both ending up in the tower!"

"Calm down, love." When Anders didn't, Hawke leaned in for a kiss, deep and languid, just enough to distract Anders the panic building in his chest, if just a little. "We'll deal with it. It's going to be fine—or it won't be, and we'll be out of this city and out of their reach in no time. They wouldn't dare to take you away, not unless they get through me, and they _won't, _that I promise you._ "_

In answer to Anders' frown, Hawke smiled. A soft, reassuring smile that, coupled with the fingers rubbing comforting circles into Anders' palms, worked to gradually undo the knot of worry in Anders’ chest and make breathing easier. Make _hoping_ easier.

"Besides," Hawke said, "you've spent the last three years successfully avoiding Cullen like the Blight. Your luck was bound to run out at some point."

"Yes, but not like this," Anders groaned. "You didn't see him, love."

"Oh, I _wish_ I did."

"He was severely, dangerously concussed and—at least five bones were broken, probably a few teeth—"

"I love when you talk dirty to me—"

"I mean, he deserved it for nearly killing the little girl I was helping escape—"

"So you did a good deed—"

"This is _bad_ , Hawke," Anders tried to impart the gravity of the situation to the smiling idiot before him. "Really fucking terrible, no matter how satisfying it was. Because this is Cullen, and I made his life a living Void back in the Circle, so he's going to want revenge, now tenfold, and he has _all_ the means he needs to get it." Anders sighed, burying his head in the crook of Hawke's neck. "I once tried jumping from the seventh story to escape and was supposed to land, with a barrier, on an empty platform that _no one_ was supposed to be patrolling, but fucking overeager recruit _Cullen_ had to fucking _be there_ and the impact almost killed him on the spot. I mean I healed him and got recaptured right after, and then proceeded to prank him for the entirety of the following year so..." Hawke was laughing again, the traitor. "So he really, _really_ wants me dead. I'm glad you find it funny, Hawke. Ha bloody ha."

"It's funny because you're so worked up about it," Hawke said, "but you know that inflicting repeated bodily harm on Serah ‘Mages Aren’t People’ Rutherford makes you sort of a legend, right?”

"Or an idiot."

"They're not mutually exclusive." Anders pinched him, _hard_ , on the forearm and even so, Hawke's lips curled into a fond smile. “Anders—have I told you that I love you today?”

“That still holds true?” Anders made sure, just in case. “Even after I fucked up _this_ much?”

“And will hold true forever,” Hawke promised, leaning his forehead against Anders’. “I _love_ you. More than life. Never forget that.”

And, despite the words, despite the softness in Hawke's eyes, despite the stark reassurance, Anders’ breath hitched with worry. A frown tensing his face. Something dark twisting up inside his mind.

“Anders?”

“I don’t want you to lose your life because of my foolishness, Garrett.” His heart skipped a beat as his blood ran ice-cold, images of Hawke’s cold, unmoving form springing up in his mind unprompted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put us in danger like this. Put _you_ in—“

“You told me once you’d drown us in blood to keep me safe.” Hawke lifted Anders chin, not letting him turn away. “I’d do the same, in a heartbeat. Spill however much blood it takes, kill anyone who’d dare lay a hand on you,” Hawke spoke with the sincerity he so rarely let show, holding his gaze steady and determined, eyes reflecting the love Anders gave so freely but struggled to accept himself. “There is no ‘my life’ without you in it, Anders.”

And that... the words, the sentiment, the way Hawke looked at him like he was the most precious thing in existence—it was an honor, a luxury, a love Anders didn’t deserve yet accepted anyway. He melted against Hawke’s embrace, burying his head in the crook of his neck to hide the blush, hide the prickling tears, the no doubt stupid-looking wobbly smile Anders could feel tugging at his lips.

“Bastard,” he whispered against Hawke’s skin, breathing in his familiar scent. “I love you, too. More than I can ever hope to put to words.”

“What about kisses?” Hawke nuzzled his head until their lips meet, a brief but searing point of connection. “Or something,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows, “more exciting?”

Anders played up a frustrated sigh. “Hawke.” It was a struggle to fight against a smile. "You are impossible.”

“And you’re getting hard already.” Hawke drew him closer, pressing their hips together to make his point. “I suppose we should—“

Anders captured his mouth, quick and sure, kissing him deep, rough, bordering on violent, and dragging him by his collar to the bedroom to get to each and every thing Hawke ‘supposed’ they should do—and more, always _more_ , because Maker knew they could never get enough. 

* * *

The next day, Hawke walked the streets proudly with Anders by his side, glare and posture daring anyone to challenge him, and as ever, nobody did. And in fact, Anders noticed, much to his confusion, that no templar stationed around the Market District seemed to pay him any attention. Which was strange, surely, because Kirkwall wasn’t ablaze with news of a dead Knight-Captain, so Cullen _must_ be alive, and conscious, and livid.

And then Knight-Commander Meredith herself appeared in their line of sight, marching straight towards them.

_Fuck._

"Champion," she greeted Hawke, eyes darting to Anders with no small measure of disdain, "Warden. It’s good that I found you here. There is a matter in urgent need of your attention."

"Knight-Commander," Hawke spoke, confident as ever, while Anders was busy suppressing the mix of panic clashing with Justice's insistent, violent pulses of rage against his mind. "Whatever is it we can aid you with?"

"A member of the Order was gravely injured last night," Meredith said, "and is in need of specialized healing. If the spirit healer could assist in his recovery," she gritted her teeth through the next words, "the Order would be most welcome."

"Injured?" Anders blinked, bluffing as smoothly as he never could when it came to cards and gambling. Justice's mind brushed against his more calmly now, in a wave of quiet satisfaction. "A templar, gravely injured? By whom?"

"We suspect it to be the work of the Mage Underground." Meredith's gaze lingered on Anders, appraising. "To which neither of you are affiliated, of course."

Hawke nodded. "Of course."

"The templar in question remembers nothing about the assailant," Meredith went on. "We suspect it to be the work of a blood mage. A demon, perhaps. Surely fixable damage to a healer of your stature."

Anders wasn't listening—to Meredith, at least, so simply nodded along to whatever she was saying to him until she refocused on Hawke. Anders listened, rather, to the sizzling fire of Justice's protest surging up at Meredith's words.

 _Blood mage. Demon._

_I am not_ either _of these,_ was the one distinct thought Anders could hear breaking through from Justice's consciousness into his. Even though they still had trouble properly communicating when they weren't together in the Fade on those preciously rare, lyrium-induced occasions, Anders latched onto the accidental moment of harmonic sync, and the scene of his altercation with Cullen ran through his mind in perfect clarity, this time through Justice's eyes.

He marveled at the memory, breathed for the first time since the encounter with genuine relief, only now realizing what actually took place. A common ability among spirits that Justice had reconnected with now that they worked better together, could talk to each other at least sometimes, honing each other's strength through the unconventional bond. Anders supposed it'd be useful many a time more in the future, the ability to make people forget having ever met them.

Anders came to just in time to not completely ignore Meredith's crisp goodbye.

"Something tells me," Hawke said once Meredith was well and out of reach, "that might be a trap."

"Not quite," Anders said with an incredulous laugh. "You know what, love, I think we might have actually gotten away with it this time."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning—remember when I told you Justice was getting stronger lately? With our connection becoming smoother?" Anders grasped Hawke's hand in his. It was thanks to Hawke, after all, his kindness, his understanding, his insistence on seeing Justice as the spirit he was that allowed their connection to deepen and thrive. "What I thought was something else was an ability he regained now that he's stronger here outside the Fade."

Hawke hummed, thoughtful. "Let me guess—the ability to cause... de _lyrium_?" His lips split into a shit-eating grin. "Get it? Lyrium. Delyrium. Listen, you've got to admit that one’s _genius_."

Every bit of excitement Anders had telling Hawke about Justice's rediscovery died in an instant, and Anders wondered for what must have been some thousandth time what kind of cruel sadistic Maker duped him into falling in love with such a ridiculous man.

Though since Anders' answer to the terrible pun was to kiss Hawke senseless, right there in broad daylight where all of Hightown could see them, Anders supposed he wasn't exactly one to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... it's never specified that making people forget is exclusively Cole's ability, so I allowed myself to play around with the headcanon. Also think of how convenient this would be if Justice!Anders always has this ability an THIS IS BASICALLY HOW I FIX THE PLOT HOLE OF EVERY TEMPLAR IN KIRKWALL IGNORING MY MAGE HAWKE'S LIGHTNING STORMS AND FIREBALLS OKAY
> 
> Ahem XD
> 
> Thank you for the read! Kudos and comments massively appreciated💙💙💙
> 
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